The Swan of the West
by Diem Kieu
Summary: Frodo's voyage to the Undying Lands was only the beginning. When he accepts the one way to heal his wound from the Morgul blade, he fundamentally transforms his destiny as well as that of Arda itself... Inspired by a Finnish legend.
1. Chapter I

Chapter I

The cool zephyr of the sea caressed Frodo's face as the elven ship set sail for the Undying Lands, as if to console him. His calling had come from the coast of the Setting Sun, yet that calling had required him to forsake all that he held dear – the Shire, the forest of Lorien, Aragorn, Legolas, Gimli, Merry, Pippin, and most of all, his friend among friends, Samwise Gamgee. He could see and feel the light of Galadriel's phial fading slowly as the ship drifted further away from the Shore of Middle Earth. The wind blew his deep brown curls into tangles as he went through his memories one by one – the faces of his late mother and father, his time in the Shire with his Uncle Bilbo, the trials of his quest with the Ring, the marriage of Sam and Rosie… Suddenly silent tears, like pearls slipping from his water blue eyes, landed upon the white ship of elven wood. The next thing Frodo knew, he felt a mighty yet benign hand upon his shoulder and heard the familiar voice of an elderly but powerful man.

"Do not let your heart be troubled. We are headed from what we know on to a better place."

It was Gandalf, the wizard who had guided him on his quest to destroy the Ring as well as Bilbo before him. He was once a grey wizard, but his robes had turned white after his encounter with the Balrog. Now work in Middle Earth was done for both of them as well as for everyone else who rode this ship – or so it seemed. The Lady Galadriel and Lord Celeborn were among them, along with Elrond the father of Arwen and the aging Bilbo Baggins. The wind toyed with Galadriel's long golden tresses like a long lost lover as they flowed beneath her ivory travelling cloak. Her regal white gown made her resemble a princess bride ready to be walked down an aisle and surrender to the arms of her fair husband once and for all.

Bilbo's hair, once bright and curly like any hobbit, was now wiry and hoary from his extensive years with the Ring. His face had more lines than the bark of Fangorn himself. His attire of sage green, mellow gold, and taupe, although fine indeed, seemed only to reinforce his ever-withering youth.

Youth among the hobbits on the ship seemed to reside solely in Frodo. The wind continued to touch his smooth, fair-skinned face. He almost could have been mistaken for a little princeling, especially with the simple yet beautiful vest and coat he wore that happened to match his eyes. Yet speaking to him would prove otherwise, for his maturity and experience with The Ring would have been unfurled. Hence there lay the reason why he stepped on this ship and did not stay in the Shire.

Gandalf's voice suddenly awakened him from his thoughts.

"Frodo? Are you all right?"

"Yes, I'm fine."

"You were reflecting on your life in Middle Earth, weren't you?"

"I-I was, actually."

Frodo, although he knew the wizard quite well, was rather surprised that he correctly assumed his thoughts. He didn't do a very good job hiding it.

"Do not worry. It's actually quite an apt action for an occasion such as this," continued Gandalf.

"I suppose. I can feel the light of Galadriel's phial fading."

The lady chimed in at the mentioning of her gift to the former Ring-Bearer.

"Fear not. You shall soon witness a star far brighter than Eärendil could ever be."

She then gazed off into the sky, smiling at its beauty. Frodo had never seen her happier – perhaps this was only because she had been so focused on the quest that was at hand, although it was Elrond's first time seeing her so joyous as well. Maybe it was because she was finally released from her duties concerning the mortal world. Knowing her, one could never know for sure. However, it was no wonder that she was admiring the skies above. Its shades of gold, rose-gold, oranges, crimsons, purples, and blues outshone the finest silks crafted by the hands of men (although perhaps not those of the elves, since they were wise and skilled beyond any creature) as the sun sunk into the waters ahead like a neighboring ship surrendering to its demise.

According to the lore Frodo had been told, this was why the Undying Lands were to the west of Middle Earth – as the sun sets in the sky of Arda on the western horizon, so does the soul set in the sky of a life in a paradise to the west of a mortal world. In his heart he half expected to be lost at sea forever, for in his own eyes he was too lowly to be among immortal elves, yet the quest had also rendered him to a point where he was no longer fit to be among the folk of his own race. Frodo then shifted his attention back to the phial.

"I wonder if there's a way to put a bit of light from a star of the Undying Lands in here."

Galadriel looked over her shoulder, breaking her gaze into the heavens.

"What reason is there? My phial was to be a light in the very darkest of places. There is no such place as Mordor in the Western Realm."

"I do not wish to discard a gift from the Lady of the Golden Wood."

A sweet smile returned to her face at his comment. Even her son-in-law Elrond, whose face was normally as hard as stone, could not resist a grin. Originally his daughter Arwen was to be on this ship, however, she was so adamant about staying with Aragorn, her true love among the race of Men, that Frodo Baggins became her replacement. This couldn't have been a better choice.

Frodo slipped the phial back into his coat, and suddenly he began to feel a dull pain in his left shoulder. It was from the wound he took early on in his quest from the Morgul blade of the Witch King. His hand moved involuntarily to the wounded area, although he didn't know why it hurt him now upon the ship. Elrond's smile slipped away as he regained awareness of the hobbit's wounds. A heavy sigh passed his lips as he noticed Frodo's action.

" 'Tis that wretched Morgul wound again, isn't it?"

Frodo nodded, unwilling to speak of his grim scar.

"Is that the true reason you're here with us?"

"Aye," said the hobbit, his voice quiet and reluctant. "My intention is to have it healed, and then look after Uncle Bilbo for the rest of his days…"

"That's quite a wise decision. He'll need you there to help him get over his hold on the Ring. He's had it longer than you, I believe."

"I'm afraid so." Frodo looked out again at the sea, now indigo with night. The full moon glowed like a giant pearl upon a navy velvet sky studded with diamonds.

"But you are wounded and ill yourself," the former elf of Rivendell commented. "Go and rest your weary body and soul. You've had enough on your shoulders, Ring-Bearer." And so ended the first day and night of the great voyage.

. . . . .

The journey was fair indeed – the ship was beautiful and comfortable, the company was kind and familiar, and the sea was mighty to behold. Although its rich, vivid blue could be captured in Frodo's eyes, its vastness could not. Yet despite the virtually infinite stretch of water, the voyage did end. There was a night of rain, and then when Frodo awoke that morning he could hear the sound of sweet elvish voices singing in the air.

The ship had finally met the shores of the Undying Lands. The harbor was more breathtaking than words could describe. It seemed as if it were forged completely from gold and silver. The ship halted, never to move again. Lord Celeborn was the first to set his feet upon the jewel-encrusted dock. He then stretched his picturesque hand for that of his wife, the Lady Galadriel. She took it and stepped gracefully off. Elrond followed her, and the great Gandalf the White followed him. The two hobbits were the last to leave. Frodo felt obligated to stay by his Uncle Bilbo's side. The elder hobbit came slowly and wearily onto the dock, and the younger one did not take one step ahead of him. Frodo cast his arm around Bilbo's shoulder, ready to catch him if he stumbled or tripped over a jewel in his path.

A young elf-maid in an elaborate, earthen toned gown soon greeted them.

"_Mára Aurë! Gîl síla na lû govaded!_" _(Hello! A star shines on the time of our meeting!)_

Galadriel responded kindly.

"_Mae govannen._" _(Well met.)_

She then, oddly enough, switched to speaking in the common tongue.

"A star does shine upon the time of this meeting."

The Lady looked over her shoulder, smiling at the two hobbits. Lord Celeborn also shifted his gaze upon them, as did Elrond. Gandalf had slowed his pace so that now he stood promptly beside them. He looked straight ahead at the elves before him – one could tell how proud he was of the hobbits just by looking into his eyes.

The elf-maid looked again at the company she beheld and discovered that these were not simply fellow elves – these were the Keepers and the Ring-Bearers! Her eyes widened with surprise, yet she was also quite disappointed with herself for not recognizing them sooner. The white-haired hobbit looked up at her and smiled warmly. She, in turn, gave them both a low curtsy. She rose to address the newly arrived company, briefly straightening her skirts.

"How may I serve thee?"

"What a kind question to ask," Gandalf answered. "I see thy guardians have trained thee well, young lass."

A humble grin crossed her lips. Frodo was rather shocked to hear Gandalf refer to an elf as a lass, although she seemed much younger than the company he was in – especially in comparison to Bilbo or the wizard. Gandalf continued to speak to the girl.

"We've come here for a rather special reason – one particularly pertaining to the hobbits. The elder is Bilbo Baggins, and the youth by his side is his nephew, Frodo Baggins."

After introducing her to everyone else, the wizard moved closer, motioning her to come with him. She did so, and they walked only a small distance from the group – just enough so that they were no longer in their earshot.

"It is Frodo who needs the greater share of help. I know it may seem otherwise, but it was he who brought the Ring to Mordor. He still bears great wounds from the quest. I would not be surprised if he denied your aid for the sake of his uncle. He is a selfless but stubborn hobbit."

"I am but an assistant to my elders. Nonetheless, I shall do my best to place him in good hands."

"_Le hannon._" _(Thank you.) _

"_Glassen._" _(My pleasure.) _

They then promptly returned to the group. Several other elf-servants like the maid came then and led the new arrivals to the main entrance of a magnificent castle by the shore. That evening they were all welcomed warmly by the folk of the West as heroes of Middle Earth and the elven race. One even asked Elrond why his daughter, the Lady Arwen, did not come. The lord of Rivendell simply gave the inquirer the truth – she had married King Aragorn of Gondor and thus chosen the world of Men over these shores. The former Ring-Bearer had gone in her stead.

Frodo was travel-weary and his soul was worn from his quest with the Ring. That night in the beautiful room the elves had given him, he gazed out the window at the fair white-sanded shore. The moonlight cast upon it gave the landscape an ethereal feel, reminding him that he had come to his home for the remainder of his days. He knew not how long that would be.


	2. Chapter II

Chapter II

The rays of dawn crept into Frodo's room like a long awaited dream and lit up his face as he awoke. The first sound he heard as he rose from his bed was the renewed symphony of elvish voices singing, greeting the sun as it ascended from the horizon of the realm from whence he came. He gazed out at that same window again, watching the lovely sky as it changed from night to day with its sumptuous array of indigos, blues, purples, and pinks until it finally reached a hue as azure as his eyes.

Suddenly his door creaked open. It was the same elf-maid who had greeted his company the day before. She now wore a simple sage green gown with her hair woven into a set of long, ornate twin braids.

"Good morning. _Im gelir ceni ad lín._" _(I am happy to see you again.)_

"_Mára Aurë,_" Frodo replied.

"I was given a message from Lord Gandalf. He told me you were injured on your quest…?"

"Yes," answered the hobbit as his hand involuntarily moved to his wounded shoulder.

"The wizard asked me to do whatever I can to help you while you're here. I am not a healer, but I can take you to one. Come walk with me, Frodo."

A heavy sigh passed from his lips.

"I suppose you are right, milady. Just give me a moment to dress."

The elf-maid promptly stepped outside the door. Only the slightest shade of pink rose to her cheeks – this hobbit seemed far more charming than she had imagined his race to be. No one, not even a fellow elf, had ever called her "milady" before.

Frodo finally stepped out the door. He had thrown on the same blue vest and coat he had worn on the journey. Together they strolled through the courtyard of the castle until they reached the staircase of an elegant white tower. The courtyard had proven to Frodo to be even more beautiful than Lórien itself, as did the rest of what he had seen of the Undying Lands so far.

They climbed up the stairs until they arrived at the top, where there was a large wooden door carved with elvish designs. The elf-maid promptly knocked on it, and almost immediately it was opened by another young elf woman. Surprisingly, she resembled the girl by his side quite closely, although it seemed as if she were slightly older.

"Come in," she said, beckoning them inside. Frodo obeyed, and the elf-maid followed. The elf-woman closed the door behind them.

"_Shar shol caesi, jhori moraes?_" _(*What brings you here, little sister?*)_

"_Sor cyrdor. Ci air mos eil shylaer. Tal o vaeri caer cos?" _

_(*This hobbit. He is sick and wounded. Can you please help him?*)_

"_Tancave."_ _(*Yes. [literally, "Certainly".]*) _

The elf-woman switched to the common tongue as she spoke to Frodo.

"Come with me."

Again he obeyed, following her into another quaint but beautiful room that seemed as if it were her sleeping quarters. Frodo noticed that there was an array of medicinal and healing herbs, including kingsfoil, growing just outside her windowsill. He was immediately snapped out of his thoughts when the elf-woman spoke to him again.

"So my sister tells me you're injured."

"She's your sister?"

"Yes. Her name is Caladwen. Did she not tell you that?"

"No, she didn't!"

"Well then, you must have been at quite the disadvantage. Please pardon her for that. She tends to think two steps forward from the present."

"And you are…?"

"Hûredhiel. I suppose you are Frodo Baggins?"

"How did you know that?"

"How could I _not_ know? Your entire company's become a legend here. Now back to the task at hand. _Shar eir o?_" _(*What ails you?*)_

_"Im harnannen."_ _(*I'm wounded.*)_

"_Shaesi eisi o ces?_" _(*Where are you hurt?*)_

"_Tia mylaes._" _(*My shoulder.*)_

"_Kai mor ol so jhaedi os tia shaer._" _(*Go sit on the ledge of my bed.*)_

He seated himself there, and Hûredhiel promptly came to his side.

"_Tae ai saji ei jhyl eir os shyl?_" _(*May I look at your wound?"*)_

"_Mae._" _(*Yes.*)_

The elf-woman proceeded to undressing him to the waist. She set aside his coat, removed his vest, and undid the buttons of his shirt. She placed her hands beneath the cloth and gently pushed it off his shoulders, fully exposing his upper body to her view. Suddenly her face went pale as she recognized that his wound was no mere injury.

"You were pierced by a… Morgul blade?!"

"Yes. This is the reason I sailed to the Undying Lands."

"_Shar caesi eil vaer. Ai shor shi shas._" _(*Wait here. I'll be back.*) _

Hûredhiel then rushed out of her bedroom. Caladwen was standing just by the door where she had entered.

"Caladwen! _Shai syr o sai shol cos caesi?!_" _(*Who told you to bring him here?!*) _

"_Ei shojas ail shori._" _(*A wizard in white.*)_

"_Shar?! Pai byr saer ti o myji sai Saruman!_" _(*What?! Do not tell me you spoke to Saruman!*)_

"_Law! Air shar byr Saruman!_" _(*No! It was not Saruman!*)_

"_Sael shai shar air?!_" _(*Then who was it?!*)_

"Gandalf."

"Gandalf -?! _Pai o cyrn eilaesaer ci shyr shi ais ci thyl eidyr sor?!_"

_(*Do you know how angered he would be if he found out about this?!*) _

"_Lau._" _(*No.*)_

Caladwen's chest was heaving with panic. However, Hûredhiel was now slightly calmer.

"_Ci shalaer o sai saji cos sai vaer calaes, byr mystaeli jhoji ti. Tysti ol!_"

_(*He wanted you to take him to a real healer, not someone like me. Come on!*) _

She took her little sister by the hand and stormed out of the chamber, almost slamming the door behind them. She could not complete the task required, but she was determined to find someone who could fulfill Gandalf's orders as they were intended to be.


	3. Chapter III

Chapter III

Elrond looked out from his balcony onto the Lórien-esque courtyard, his brow furrowed with worry. Sailing West had done nothing to assuage the sense of unease he had about Arwen remaining in Middle Earth with her mortal husband. He bore no ill will toward King Aragorn, however, he feared for his daughter when death would snatch her true love away; the life of a man was far too brief in comparison to that of an elf.

The breeze began to blow his tresses into tangles and tugged at the folds of his robes. His fingers traced the railing of the balcony he stood on as he remained deep in his thoughts. Suddenly a voice startled him from his trance.

_"Suilaid, Jhys os Imladris._" _(Greetings, Lord of Rivendell.)_

The voice belonged to a fellow elven noble. For a brief moment Elrond thought that Haldir, the father of Legolas, had somehow survived the War of the Ring and subsequently sailed West just as he did – but alas, it was not so.

"_Le suilon._ What tidings to you bring?" _(I greet thee.)_

"I bring no tidings, only an inquiry of the Ring-bearer's well being. How does he?"

"I've not seen him since last night."

"I see. I understand the wizard gave my daughter an order to look after him?"

"I heard no such thing, although I do not doubt Gandalf would do such a thing."

"I am Meldiron, Head of the Healers."

"Ah. No wonder you ask about Frodo's health."

"_Mae._ What is his condition?" _(Yes. [literally, 'Well'])_

"He was pierced in the shoulder by a Morgul blade."

Meldiron's face grew grim at the sound of the news. His lips parted to answer Elrond, but two young maidens frantically rushed to the balcony before he could release the words from his mouth.

_"Tharaes, shi paeraesaraelia baer os caer!"_ _(Father, we desperately need your help!) _

"_Shar air, Hûredhiel?"_ _(What is it, Hûredhiel?) _

"It's him – The Ring-bearer!"

Caladwen jumped in almost immediately.

"I tried to take him to her and neither of us knows how to handle a wound from a wraith's sword! Father, please!"

Meldiron gave them both a stern stare in the eyes.

"Bring us to him. We'll see what we can do."

Caladwen did not hesitate to obey her father.

"He's in Hûredhiel's chamber. Come this way!"

The two sisters led the elven lords swiftly to where they had left Frodo.

"I'd think my kin from the West would know how to handle wound better than what my capabilities could have achieved," retorted Elrond.

Meldiron responded, "And I would advise you to carry your worries no further. I shall see what I can do."

When they had finally reached Hûredhiel's chamber, Elrond saw Frodo lying on the bed with his hand clutching his wounded shoulder, wincing from the pain. Meldiron rushed into the room, determined to get to the heart of the matter.

"Hûredhiel! _Tolo hi!_" _(Come now!)_

She obeyed, promptly coming to her father's side.

"What do you know of this wound?" he asked.

"Nothing, except that it came from a Morgul blade."

Meldiron gently rolled Frodo onto his back and pried his hand off his shoulder to look at the wound. The healer could tell that the hobbit before him had dealt with this wound for a while, and yet the flesh surrounding it still bore a furious shade of red beneath the pale scar. He looked over his shoulder back at Elrond.

"Have you handled a wound like this before?"

"Mae. In fact, I was the one who removed the shard from his shoulder back in Middle Earth. Despite our efforts, this injury has caused him to fall severely ill every year on the anniversary of his encounter with the Witch King."

Taking in what Elrond had told him, Meldiron looked back at the scar while assessing the possibility of a final attempt to aid the hobbit. After a few moments, he shook his head and let out a heavy sigh.

"I am afraid to say that you were right after all; our capabilities are no greater than yours."

"Is there anyone else who can come to his aid?"

"No healer here can cure him of his suffering. Only the Valar can help him now."

"Are you saying that we've come here for naught?"

"No, but there's only one way to fulfill his needs. Should he accept their intervention, then he may never be the same again."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that he will no longer be… a hobbit."

Frodo could feel his heart pounding inside his chest.


	4. Chapter IV

Chapter IV

Frodo could feel his heart hammering like a drum in the midst of battle within his chest. His left shoulder seared with the pain of a raging fire. Mindlessly his hand clutched it with lightning speed. Another hand wrenched it off and pinned it down to the bed beneath him with the strength of an iron shackle. The might of the hobbit's will enabled him to hold back his tears and screams of agony and look the one above him straight in the eye. The man holding down his wrist was undoubtedly an elf with a long mane as golden as that of Legolas, yet his face was more angular and severe. His eyes were stern and were the color of mahogany. The elf quickly turned his head muttered something in his native tongue to someone else in the room. The next thing Frodo knew, a soft feminine hand touched his wounded shoulder and massaged a cool, soothing substance onto his skin. The pain slowly but surely ebbed away as the medicine sunk into his flesh. For a few moments, he closed his eyes and simply lay there, silently reveling in the end of his spell of torture. Frodo's face became utterly serene, even angelic.

When his eyes finally opened, they were clear and pristine, as if a great burden had been temporarily lifted from his soul. He rose and sat upright upon the bed, scanning the room as he finally became aware of the presence of everyone in the room. Caladwen and Hûredhiel stood at one side. Frodo looked at the elf who had held him down; now that he was fully aware, he now realized that he was probably their father. In her hand Hûredhiel held a small jar of ointment.

"_Le hannon,"_ Frodo breathed.

"_Gelir na thaed,"_ Hûredhiel responded. _(Happy to help.)_ A sad smile now graced her countenance.

Elrond was in the room as well. He sat at the foot of the bed, his brow furrowed in thought once more. The hobbit's voice broke the sudden grim silence.

"Lord Elrond…?"

"Frodo, I am sorry to say that we are the bearers of ill tidings."

"What do you mean?"

The elf that had helped Hûredhiel tend to his shoulder now chimed in.

"I am Meldiron, head of the healers. Unfortunately, the ointment my daughter placed on your wound is only a temporary reliever."

Elrond looked Frodo straight in the eye.

"Only the Valar can grant what we sailed here for. However, should you accept their help, you can never turn back to the life you once had."

Meldiron continued, "You have a decision to make, Frodo Baggins. You may either live out the rest of your days here as you did in the Shire, or journey to Valinor and ask for the intercession of its inhabitants. Make your choice."

The healer then exited the room along with both of his daughters, leaving the Lord of Rivendell alone with the former Ring-Bearer.

"Frodo… Do you know how serious this is? The decision you're about to make could irrevocably alter the very fabric of your being!"

"I know. That's why I want to speak with Gandalf about it."

"Shall the Lady Galadriel and your Uncle Bilbo know of this as well?"

"Yes."

"Well then, I shall leave you to dress. This cannot be delayed in vain."

Elrond then left and shut the door behind him. Frodo touched his shoulder again. The scar was now as hard as a shell, but that was better than searing pain. He looked over and noticed that his clothes had been neatly folded on a ledge by the windowsill. Finally, he lowered his bare feet onto the wooden floor and dressed. Before he opened the door to leave, he looked out the window and saw that the sun was already lowering in the sky, and then slipped out to meet Elrond and the rest of the company.

. . . . .

Meldiron, Hûredhiel, and Caladwen waited for them just outside the room. Elrond joined them shortly. When Frodo finally came out, the elf-lord ushered him towards the door that led out of the tower. However, as they left, Caladwen was the one to walk them out.

_"Kyr jhes, Frodo. I melain berio le,"_ _(Good luck, Frodo. May the Valar keep you)_ she said softly as she watched them descend the stairs of the tower, never to return to the quaint elvish room her elder sister called home.


	5. Chapter V

Chapter V

Gandalf sat on the rocks of the shore that Frodo's room overlooked, staring meditatively at the gossamer sky. Bilbo was not far from him – in fact, he was standing just ahead. Despite his impressively long life, this was the first time that Bilbo Baggins' furry bare feet had ever touched the soft sand of a seashore. Gandalf may have discarded his title as the Grey Wizard long before, but he had not lost an ounce of his interest in smoking pipes. He sat in his white robes enjoying some fine pipeweed and blowing clouds shaped like ships just as he had done in the Shire. The scenery was so peaceful that the wizard got lost in his thoughts (this was quite rare for someone like him), and so inadvertently blew a cloud of smoke right in Bilbo's general direction.

"Plugh! Ack! Gandalf! You blow some magnificent smoke clouds no doubt, but please watch where you aim next time; I'm old too, you know!"

"Oh! My apologies, Bilbo. I simply lost track of what I was doing. I guess that's easy to do here."

"Ah, so it is. Well, since you just sent me a lovely invitation, I think I'll have a smoke myself!"

The old hobbit climbed up on the rocks to join his good friend, then drew out his own fine pipe from the pocket of his coat. Gandalf in turn handed Bilbo a handful of fresh leaves, which he stuffed into the pipe and lit.

"It's just like the ol' days back in the Shire, isn't it? By golly, I'm starting to think about that night when I celebrated my eleventy-first birthday! Do you remember, Gandalf?"

"Indeed."

"Ah… If only Frodo were here! I can picture him lying on these rocks with a good book enjoying this beautiful sunset with the ocean breeze in his hair! Hmm… Where is that boy anyway? I haven't seen him since we got off that ship!"

"Neither have I… I wonder if that servant girl took care of him like I asked her to…"

A voice from behind answered the wizard.

"I would not say she served him well."

Gandalf looked over his shoulder and noticed that it belonged to Lord Elrond.

"What news do you bear?"

"Neither the servant girl nor her kin could give Frodo what he needed. Not even the lord of the healers could take action; he told us that our only chance lies with the Valar."

Frodo was standing at the elf's side, silent and solemn as a statue in a cemetery. Bilbo turned around, and as he listened to the grim tidings, the content smile that had been on his wizened face faded quickly.

"What do you mean? Is there no hope for my boy?!"

Gandalf returned his attention to his companion.

"You should have listened more carefully, Bilbo. The healers here cannot help him. But the Valar can."

Frodo finally intervened.

"But should I choose to accept their help, I am told that I will no longer be a hobbit. I do not know what lies before me."

"We have decided to discuss the issue with you two as well as the Lady Galadriel and Lord Celeborn," continued Elrond.

"Do you know of their whereabouts?"

Gandalf replied, "Yes. I believe I saw them walking in the gardens a few moments ago. I would not be surprised if they were still there. Let us go."

The wizard rose from his seated place along the rocks, quickly preparing himself for what was at hand. Bilbo slowly and reluctantly got back on his aging feet, finishing off what was left in his pipe.

. . . . .

Galadriel stood quietly in the lavish garden with her beloved Celeborn by her side. They did not say a word, but they stared into each other's eyes silently, sharing an endearing gaze. Both had known the painful times of Middle Earth, almost as much as Frodo. The silence between the two was neither hostile nor awkward, but soulful and serene. Here they were – they had finally settled in paradise, their eternal resting place.

The sweet serenity of the scene was suddenly broken by the sound of footsteps. Galadriel looked over her shoulder and saw Elrond and Gandalf from behind. Bilbo walked beside the wizard, his head hung low – although Gandalf wasn't sure if it was from the dismal news or from the fact that his joyous evening had ended so abruptly (perhaps it was a little bit of both).

"What troubles you?" asked the lady.

"I am afraid that we are the bearers of sorry tidings," answered Gandalf.

"What message do you bring?"

Elrond said, "The healers here can do nothing to heal Frodo's wound from the Morgul blade."

"However, there is still an ounce of hope," quoth the wizard after a moment of mournful silence.

"The head of the healers said that the Valar can help him if we ask for their intercession. One of them was formerly my teacher. However, the decision should be ultimately up to Frodo. If he denies their aid, then he can live out his days here as he would in the Shire. However, should he accept it, he will be fundamentally transformed."

Frodo closed his eyes for a moment, and stated silently, _I cannot turn back._


End file.
